19-Jan-2007
There are days when I hop out of bed, delighted with the prospect of sunshine, work, coffee, and the feeling that that particular day, I will do no wrong. I will accomplish each and every goal I've set for myself. I will remember to eat. I will remember to caffeinate before 10 AM. I will remember that I speak three languages fluently, that I can train horses to jump really high fences, and that I can read palms with gusto. I can also guess what song is playing on the radio two notes into it. I am worthy of representation. I am worthy of going out for staffing (notice I said worthy, not deserving. The second you think something is owed you is the second you're gonna be really disappointed). In short, there are days when I am happy with myself.
Today is not one of them. Today, I believe my entire career choice was based on my mom telling me I was talented after she read my second grade treatise on "Why I Want A Pet Panther" (will kill people I don't like; eats Panther Chow, which I developed with Purina and from which I made my fictional second grade fortune; might be purple, like Skeletor's evil cat). Today, I feel worthy of jack shit.
Today is not one of them. Today, I believe my entire career choice was based on my mom telling me I was talented after she read my second grade treatise on "Why I Want A Pet Panther" (will kill people I don't like; eats Panther Chow, which I developed with Purina and from which I made my fictional second grade fortune; might be purple, like Skeletor's evil cat). Today, I feel worthy of jack shit.
I feel worthy of a writing career because of an essay I wrote in college.
Senior year, I had to take a class on Latin America to graduate. I hated it, and I often have many nightmares based on having to be back in that class. Our final assignment was to write an essay on "Anything about Latin America." Hah. Never be so vague with me. I wrote an essay comparing the original Broadway recording of "Evita" to the movie with Madonna in it, and how recent social changes had forced re-editing and shuffling up the musical numbers to craft the plot into a different outcome, making Che Guevarra look worse and Eva look better.
The professor called me into the office to tell me that I had missed the point of the entire assignment...but he was going to give me a B+ because it was so interesting. Ah, good times.